


you and me, we're the litter on the breeze

by asphaltworld



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Amusement Park, M/M, eddie investigates gay history
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:48:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22856416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asphaltworld/pseuds/asphaltworld
Summary: Eddie's frat goes on a group trip to the seedy amusement park on the opposite side of Maine. They get harassed by a certain curly-haired terror employed as a ride operator.title from suede's excellent song Trash
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 1
Kudos: 16





	you and me, we're the litter on the breeze

The Phi Beta Lambda chapter leader always hires a bus to drive the group somewhere the weekend after Rush Week. She likes to get the group together to do bonding activities at the beginning of every year, and the activities she comes up with always involve crowds and a long bus trip.

Eddie hates amusement parks and packed buses, so he sits in the front and puts his bag down next to him. At the back, horror of horrors, is the bus toilet. He sits as close to the bus’s door as possible and cracks open his window. He tugs his scarf up so it covers his nose and mouth. 

The trip falls right as summer fades into something a little crisper, a time that always reminds Eddie of the ripe potential that comes with school. Fresh notebooks and new teachers, more time to spend with friends. Time away from his fucking mother. 

When they pull up to their destination, Castle Park, even Eddie has to admire the golden light hitting the line of trees surrounding the parking lot. The chapter leader, Anna, takes the treasurer with her to go pay admission. The rest of them wander forward toward the park. There are big, clumsy statues of knights and wooden cutouts of other characters, blond maidens with painted-on cleavage and a goofy, lumpy dragon. The members immediately rush out and swarm the figures. A few even brought along their Polaroids, lighting up the area with white flashes. 

Eddie sticks with the group, willing the day to go faster. There’s not too much at this kitschy, falling-apart amusement park that interests him. Further exploration reveals there’s an arcade, but it’s honestly worse than the one they have near campus. 

All the prizes are cheap, ugly stuffed animals, or tacky t-shirts with Castle Park printed across the front, or soccer balls. Stuff that’s cool if you’re a kid and you don’t have anything to compare it with. Eddie feels like he maybe used to like the circus, when he was a little boy, and he spent time somewhere like this. It’s hard to remember, these days. It could be because calculus and macro economics are taking up too much real estate in his brain, but sometimes it shocks him how little he can recall. 

“Hey, Kaspbrak, come take a shot with me!” someone calls. For once, they’re not talking about booze. The speaker, a loud-mouthed blond with wire-rimmed glasses, is standing at one of the Test Your Skills booths that holds two large basketball hoops with nets attached.

“This shit is rigged, Carter,” Eddie grumbles, but heads over anyway. The guy working the booth nods at him, tosses him a ball. Eddie rolls it around in his hands, getting used to it. Carter counts out loud, down to one. They both toss; Carter’s circles the rim before deciding not to fall into the net, which would have won him a big stuffed gingerbread man with dingy white frosting trim. Eddie’s shot, on the other hand, bounces off the backboard and into the walkway behind him. 

He hears a whoop from somewhere near the spot his basketball decided to land. Standing at another cash-grubbing scammy midway game is a tall skinny guy with a mess of black hair, holding what must be Eddie’s basketball. He’s wearing glasses, too, but they’re old fashioned with thick black rims.

“Lose something, short stuff?” the guy says, not making any move to toss the ball over. Carter scowls at him. 

“Could do without the attitude, carnie,” he says. 

The other park employee keeps smiling. He’s holding onto the ball with both hands, getting comfortable. “There’s your first mistake. Carnies are traveling carnival workers, like, the weird, tattooed guys who bring a sexily dangerous, morally corrupting spectacle to your town. Is he gonna impregnate your wife, or your sister? You just don’t know.” Eddie’s already rolling his eyes. “I’m not a carnie, though.  _ You _ came to  _ me _ . And I don’t have any tattoos. Yet.” 

Eddie and Carter share a look. The farther away from any big cities you get, the weirder the people are, in Maine. There’s nothing to pass the time except eating seafood, getting drunk and, apparently, picking fights with strangers. 

“Keep it,” Eddie says to him. He and Carter walk away, to find the rest of their group. 

“It’s the park’s property anyway,” Carter says, and Eddie laughs. “Like, he’s not gonna keep it! Who steals from their job?”

\---

There are a few water rides that Eddie tacitly refuses to go on. The “ponds” around the park are filled with dead leaves and green algae. The concrete is stained with years of spilled sodas and milkshakes, grease drippings probably, gum spat out by children or rude adults.

After Carter secures his fate of giardia by going on the log ride, they head off deeper into the park.

They catch up to the rest of PBL just in time to join them in line for some mining-themed ride. It feels like a weird choice for a ride, without much inspiration behind it. 

The ride’s on a track, designed to look like mine carts trailing behind a conductor's car. Sitting at the controls in the front car is one smug guy with glasses and a cowboy hat jammed onto his curls, and he catches Eddie’s eye as the car pulls in and riders start to vacate their seats. He’s wearing the same orange and yellow striped shirt, but he’s added a little red bandana around his neck for the Western theme.

“Ed, isn’t that the guy--” Carter starts, before he’s cut off with a booming intercom voice going, “He-llo ladies and gentlemen, I’m glad to see so many 49ers here on this blustery afternoon. It looks like we’ve got some very cute, very bad-at-sports riders today so I’m gonna try to keep it together but if I lose it, just know that that’s why.” 

Carter is already telling the story to seven bemused PBL members and Eddie’s glowing red, wanting to disappear and also to clock Mr. Smug and Tall in the face. 

“--sounds kinda fucking  _ gay _ , right?” Everybody laughs.

They pile into the cars, and somehow, probably because the fuckers think it’s funny or something, Eddie ends up right at the front, directly behind the park employee that apparently works everywhere at all times. 

“Oh man, I’m so glad you’re riding with me today,” Castle Park Employee Guy says, twisting around in his seat to make sure everybody’s loaded up and also to send another look at Eddie. When he twists around, though, Eddie also sees his nametag. 

“Of course,  _ Richard _ , I’m sure you’re a great driver,” Eddie says through gritted teeth.

“As long as you’re riding the Dick Express, I’m happy,” Richard says. “Also, don’t fucking call me Richard. Makes me think of Nixon. It’s Richie or Bust!” 

Eddie slumps into his deeply uncomfortable bench seat and ignores him. Richie uses the intercom to let them all know he won’t leave until they’re all firmly seated. There’s some shoving around and rocking carts in the line behind him. 

“Here we go!” There’s a heavy southern twang to the words, presumably part of the bit.

“Take a look at this here canary. Us miners like to take them in so we can bail if there’s a toxic gas leak. Take a look at ol’ Beaky. He’s lived through more than any of us. Say, Hi Beaky!” 

A couple of PBL guys chime in sarcastically, but mostly the ride is silent. Except for Richie, who’s already moving on, motormouthing into the crackly intercom system. “Without  _ feather  _ ado, I’ll take you guys on to our next attraction. Now, you might be thinking there’s not a lot of sightseeing to do in a dark mine. You might be thinking, hey, this ride smells like gasoline! And there’s no seatbelts! Well, this here is a ride for the roughest, toughest crowd at Castle Park.”

“And God’s gift to clowns is our tour guide, fucking great,” Eddie says, louder than he intended. The guys in the next cart over snicker even though his joke was stupid. He wishes they could keep up this energy when they’re not literally being held hostage by the most annoying man on the planet. 

“Looks like we got a fiesty fella here on the Portland Pines Mining Ride!” Richie shrills into the mic. Eddie’s close enough to hear his actual voice, but then he hears the delayed noise of the amplified intercom echo. “Don’t worry, I get plenty of those. Especially since the lovely proprietors of Castle Park have allowed sales of hard liquor! Yessir, I love frat boys and their dads.” 

“Let’s go, Phi Beta Lambda!” Carter shouts, and the rest of his brothers, and a few sisters, sound off along with him. Even Eddie joins in.

Richie groans, then continues the character. “A fine group of men, and a boon to my prospectin’ company.” 

It goes on like that for the duration of the ride. It feels like Richie’s deliberately fucking with them, for whatever reason. It brings back a sour taste that Eddie almost forgot. He knew, on some level, that he wasn’t well-liked when he was a kid. But Richie’s ribbing feels so familiar. 

So when Richie points out the fish swimming in the cave they’re driving through, and makes a joke about sleeping with the fishes, Eddie grabs his cowboy hat and Richie has to stop driving the cart and grab it back out of his hands. 

“Looking to give up the frat-boy-from-1986 look to go more Western?” Richie says as he struggles with Eddie, rocking the carts a little. “Trying to move on from your drug-dealing role in Less Than Zero? I think that’s great, man, but not with my work uniform?” 

“I’m way taller than that dude,” Eddie says, glaring. Robert Downey managed to turn himself into a washed-up, strung out has-been before he even hit thirty and it is  _ not _ a favorable fucking comparison. 

“No way, he’s pint-sized just like you. Yes!” Richie yells, having successfully torn the hat out of his hands. He puts it on the ground inside his cart, which strikes Eddie as fucking gross. “You’re not gettin’ the best of me again, scout,” he says sternly, finger pointed at Eddie, before he starts the ride up again. 

They’re nearing the end of the ride, and they all only have to sit through a few more minutes of Richie babbling about the ride’s highlights. It’s mostly caverns and stiff animatronics that make Eddie cringe. The jittery mechanics of each miner are like a bad dream.

Blessedly, they pull out of the “mine” and back into daylight. The air’s fresh and Eddie can see the sun. He takes a deep breath, thankful for the Maine chill for once. He’s the first off the ride, and he speedwalks away to wait for everybody else to catch up.

“Yo, shorty!” Richie shouts. And embarrassingly, Eddie hesitates, intuiting that Richie’s talking to him, after only twenty minutes of the guy getting his jokes in and taking note of every part of his outfit. Eddie’s  _ shoes _ even feel embarrassing, at this point.

“Yeah, in the polo shirt and the red sweater. C’mere. I have like, park tickets that I owe you.” It sounds creepily similar to a come-on, but Eddie heads over anyway. Richie’s annoying, but Eddie can’t look away. He’s fun to look at, because there’s just so much going on. 

“It better be a lot. You definitely owe me, after that roast.”

“You’re lucky you’re getting anything, I feel like I was just hazed into Greek society,” Richie says. “Damn! You’re a tough audience.”

“Do you always do this?”

“Pretty much, yeah. Work gets  _ really _ boring otherwise.”

“Okay, so, where are those tickets you promised me?”

“I’m a man of my word. I gotcha.” He pulls out a long strip of tickets. He folds them over into a neat package, then hands them to Eddie. “Don’t spend ‘em all in one place.”

Eddie looks down at the tickets and sees some sloppy writing in black magic marker. “Hey, what...” he starts to ask, before he trails off and realizes that it’s Richie’s name and phone number.  _ call me cutie xo _

Eddie looks up at him in disbelief. Richie’s face doesn’t change, but he rocks back and forth on his tiptoes. “Yeah. Sorry, I try not to harass the guests. Tell my boss I did good.” 

Eddie nods politely, face aflame, and then hurries back to the rest of the group so he doesn’t lose them and have to spend the rest of the day hunting them down. That happened, one year.

“What was that dude’s deal?” someone asks, a new rush whose name Eddie can’t remember.

“He felt bad for bugging me and wanted to give me some tickets,” Eddie shrugged, crushing them in his pocket. 

“You gonna spend those, dude?”

“Yeah, I am. There’s this stupid little stuffed animal in the arcade store, and it’s gotta be mine. Sorry, man.” 

The ones that are of age, and the ones with fake IDs, stop by the fake old tavern to get pitchers of beer. Eddie’s not really one for daydrinking, so he just watches and has an iced tea and a tiny bag of chips.

The next ride is a viking boat, and Eddie squeezes his eyes shut the entire time while trying to look completely casual. No one yells anything at him, so he hopes he was successful. 

After that it’s a cheap roller coaster with a few drops, pretty much nothing to anybody who’s been to Six Flags, but Eddie has never been to Six Flags. And the track looks rusted, and last month the newspaper had an article about eleven injuries on a much milder ride at an amusement park in New Jersey. While everybody else is lining up, he tries to slink away. 

“Hey there, partner.” The voice is starting to be familiar already. 

“Richie, right?”

“That’s right.” He drops the fake voice. “Do you not like roller coasters? All your little friends seem to.”

“I’ve read too many articles about amusement park disasters,” Eddie says.

Richie snorts. “Yeah, after working here and seeing the people who run these things, I’m never eating fair food ever again or trusting another ride.” 

Eddie spins around to look at him. “What’s wrong with the food?”

“Oh my god, I didn’t mean that. I eat here almost every day. I’m probably gonna drop dead of a heart attack sometime soon. And I fucking love roller coasters. That’s why I work here.” 

“You should try the salad from the Dungeon Snack Bar. It’s good, if you get them to leave off the dressing and switch out the croutons for raisins.”

“That sounds... horrific,” Richie says, but he doesn’t sound horrified. He sounds way more interested than anybody else does when they’re listening to Eddie talk about food. When Eddie tears his gaze away from the roller coaster to meet his eyes, he sees that Richie’s already looking at him. Richie shoves his hands in his jean pockets (torn, faded, don’t fit him right) but keeps eye contact. 

“I’m gonna live to be a hundred and five.” 

“I believe you,” says Richie, adjusting his glasses. 

“Men tend to have shorter lifespans than women because of risk-seeking behavior, and ‘cause testosterone raises your cholesterol and stuff.” Eddie doesn’t know why he’s saying all this. “Do you smoke? Want me to predict your lifespan expectancy?”

Richie breaks into laughter, loud and giggly. “Jesus Christ, I should have known I’d meet the grim reaper here one day. Are you pre-med, or something? That would explain a lot.”

“No, business major.” 

Richie laughs again. It’s loose, a little out of control. He obviously doesn’t measure out his laughs like Eddie does. “I should have known. You look like you’re here to buy the land this park stands on and turn it into a bank.” He puts on an old-timey accent. “Ve-ery profitable, Mr. Tozier! I must have the deed this instant! Send it over by telegram this afternoon.” 

“I’m pretty sure you can’t send stuff like that by telegram.”

“Wasn’t it just the old-fashioned version of faxing? Anyway, I don’t care. You’re not actually here to put me out of a job, are you?”

“I’m not. I bet this park would go under without you. You’re everywhere.”

“That I am. The shift rotations are all fucked and they have me working so many different places. Speaking of which, I really gotta hurry over to the ferris wheel soon. Didn’t catch your name, though..?”

“Eddie.” 

Richie salutes him, even as he’s running away so he doesn’t lose his job. “I should’ve known you’d have such an adorable name.” 

Eddie ends up spending some of the tickets on candy and a dumb little plastic dagger. He keeps the ones with Richie’s phone number on them. Because it would be too embarrassing to spend them, of course. The people here probably all know Richie. He seems hard to avoid and harder to ignore. He doesn’t want whoever is at the counter to know he’s the kind of guy who gets hit on by other guys, guys like Richie.

\---

Back in his dorm, Eddie strips off his bus clothes and changes into a worn, familiar set of flannel pajamas. 

He’s always so fucking tired when he gets back from PBL events. It takes a lot of energy to try to be someone who can act normal in a room full of the Future Business Leaders of America. When he gets a job in finance it’ll all be worth it, though. He can get away and  _ stay _ away from his mother and his shitty hometown. Once he makes something of himself, no one can tell him what to do or who to be. He can figure things out then. When that day comes. 

Whenever that day comes, he can just do shit like call back guys who give him their numbers. 

That’s something he could do today, probably. No one’s going to be checking for an amusement park employee. He doesn’t go to Eddie’s school with him. It would probably be pretty safe. Eddie pulls the tickets out of his pocket and copies the numbers down in his own, more legible writing. 

He can always do it tomorrow, though. It’s so late already, and Richie probably lives with his mom, still. No need to piss off Mrs. Richie for no reason. 

He’s dealt with enough assholes today, anyway. So instead, he flips through a comic book, even though he’s way too old for them, drinks this tea that’s supposed to boost his immune system, lies back in bed at the early hour of 10 p.m. to drift off slowly.

  
  
  


Eddie’s back at Castle Park, but the outer walls seem much grander now. They’re polished gray stone with ivy creeping up along the walls, and a full moat filled with fish and turtles. Crossing the moat, he’s flanked by knights on either side and he tries to keep his walking in step with them. To piss them off would mean getting tossed in the moat.

The castle’s courtyard is huge, and tall, a multilevel tiered cake of stone.

Once he gets inside, he sees a familiar face. It’s that guy from the amusement park, and he’s dashing around on one of the upper levels in the castle courtyard. 

“Richie,” Eddie says. The name comes back to him. “What the fuck, Richie? Come down here,” and Eddie doesn’t know why he feels so entitled to be demanding, but he does. Richie’s moving really fucking fast, headed down the cirucular path to where he’s standing. The movement is maybe too fast. Eddie’s knows, suddenly, that he can’t let Richie catch him. He has to hide. 

The castle is huge, labyrinthine, and the inside is filled with tapestries covering the walls and huge, luxurious couches covered in velvet and brocade. He’s pulling tapestries aside, looking for hidden rooms, but nothing’s coming up. There’s a pounding against the stone floor, he hears it from outside, so he decides to curl up under a couch. The running goes straight past him. 

Eddie books it back outside, into the courtyard, because he won’t look there again, will he? It’s a trap, though, all roads lead Richie to Eddie. Eddie puts up a fight at first, tries to keep running but he doesn’t know where to go so he just slows down. 

Richie catches him eventually, he can’t hold out for long against that hurricane of black curls with its wide smile. When he does catch up, he gets his arms around Eddie and his smile widens even further and Eddie shrieks. His smile deflates, then, and he says, “Why are you scared of me, Eddie? I don’t get it. I thought we were having fun,” and Eddie feels very fucking stupid. 

“Hey, Rich, don’t worry about it. You just freaked me out,” Eddie says. “Nobody likes being chased like that, idiot.” 

“Okay, well, what about this,” Richie says, and then they’re kissing. Eddie kisses him back, licks at his mouth, circles his hands around his broad back and he has really reach for it to work. He’s reaching for Richie’s belt buckle, undoes it clumsily, and then he’s on his knees looking up. 

“Go ahead,” Richie says softly, so Eddie does. He pulls Richie’s dick out and it’s hot in his hand, firm heat against his lips. He lets it fill his mouth and it’s a strain, hard to breathe, but he’s never been more conscious of his own dick. 

“Fuck, Eddie,” Richie’s gasping, and there’s a sharp tug on his hair that takes Eddie out of the moment, so far out that he wakes up in his bed. His lap is mysteriously wet. When he touches it, the stickiness makes it a lot less mysterious. It's been a good few years since Eddie last woke up in an embarrassing puddle of cum. It’s terrible and gross and he has a bunch of laundry to do now. 

It’s fine, he thinks, to want to get his face smashed into a pillow by some guy who’s attractive, and tall, and seems to really want him. It’s the  _ nineties _ . Nobody can stop him if he wants to touch dicks, right? 

\---

Eddie spends the entire Sunday doing homework and chores and all the boring shit his life consists of. The phone rings a couple times but he ignores it. It’s probably Carter. He doesn’t have an answering machine, though, so he’s just assuming.

He’s thinking about calling Richie tonight, between washing his linens and wiping down all the surfaces in his room and going over flashcards for econ. There’s a common space in his room, but he has his own phone, so he could do it without calling attention to himself.

What would he even have to say to this guy? What comes next, when he actually follows through and  _ calls _ ? What do two guys in Maine even do together? 

This is so fucking dumb.

Eddie paces his room, moves a tiny house plant from his window sill to his desk, shuffles some books around. He moves the plant back to the windowsill because it looks like it needs light and then walks over to the phone. He stares at it. 

It’s dull, lifeless red plastic and it has no right to look as menacing as it does. He sighs and turns his back on it. 

The common room he shares with two other guys is a fucking mess, he discovers. He avoids it as much as possible because young men are fucking slobs and he can’t cope with the pizza crusts and dirty dishes and fucking rank, sweaty smell that somehow fills the room. 

Today, though. Today he has time. 

The water doesn’t get as hot as he’d like, but it still steams up the room when he fills the sink with hot water. He breaks out the rubber gloves and a new sponge for the occasion. There are some dishes of his own he has to wash, anyway. Elbow-deep in sudsy, slimy water, he’s making plans to wipe down the stovetop and sweep the floor. 

When Eddie’s done with the dishes, he moves on to the countertop and the stove. When they’re sparkling, he digs out the mop from the little broom closet. The floor is crunchy, and one of the many reasons he never walks barefoot outside his own room. He circles neatly around the room with it until the floor is smooth again. The pile of dust and debris makes him cringe until it’s safely in the trash.

Eddie looks around. The couch is stained, the table is covered in drippings. There’s a lot more work here for him to do if he wants. 

But it’s getting late, he sees, already 8 at night. It won’t be much longer until it’s too late to call Richie. He only wanted to clean the kitchen, anyway. Maybe he can actually use it to cook something sometime soon. 

Eddie’s lost days like this before, scrubbing and washing everything in the building. His old roommate Nate took shameless advantage of it. Would leave his clothes out until Eddie got sick of the smell and brought them down to the laundry room with him, never took the garbage out, let pizza boxes fester for weeks. It drove Eddie fucking crazy, like nearly certifiable, and after one fight too many the RA made them do mediation and from there he was recommended to the campus counselor where he learned “coping skills” and how there’s a line between neat and obsessive. 

But whatever. Did fucking Nate have to go to counseling? Of course not. 

So no. He’s not going to clean furniture he doesn’t use. Instead, he goes back into his room. He has half an hour to decide if he’s going to call tonight, which means he probably won’t, realistically. 

He rinses his hands one more time and heads back into his room to study some more before he goes to bed.

\---

Class starts early the next day, and Eddie slogs through it. Usually he’s a fairly active participant and he likes to bring his grades up by asking questions and guiding class discussions but today he just doesn’t feel like it. The professor in calc keeps glancing over to him, like she’s making sure she’s not missing his raised hand. It’s annoying and endearing at the same time.

He decides to buy a quick bagel before he has to go to a business class. While he’s waiting for it, Carter appears and heads over to him immediately.

“Hey, Eddie. How was your weekend?” Before Eddie can say anything, Carter moves on. “That guy we met on the PBL trip sure was a character, huh? I’ve never seen anybody get so immediately obsessed with you.” 

Eddie scowls. “What’s wrong with someone liking me?” The cashier calls his order out and he hurries forward to grab it before somebody justifies his paranoia by stealing his bagel. 

“Nothing, man, that guy was just weird. Are you going to PBL tonight?” 

“Yeah, I have time. I usually make it, right?” 

“Almost as often as Anna. I just wanted to make sure.” Carter kicks his foot against the bottom of Eddie’s chair. 

“Yeah, man, I really do like going.”

“Cool. Hey, I’m gonna order lunch. You want anything else?”

“No, I’m good.” 

Carter says, “You sure? What about coffee? I think I owe you, anyway.”

“Nah, I really have to make it to my next class. I’m feeling kinda keyed up already, too. See you tonight.”

Eddie dashes away. There’s something in Carter’s tone today that feels weird. It’s not entirely new, but it’s more aggressive now.

In his business management class, he takes precise notes but his heart isn’t in them and at the end of the class, he couldn’t tell you what it is that he wrote down. After social science, a general ed requirement he left until this semester, he’s done for the day.

Some of the people he knows have jobs to go to, after school, but Eddie’s lucky. The settlement his family got when his dad died has covered all his classes so far, and he’s expecting it to cover his final year, too. 

He wants to call Richie. He’s decided. Tonight’s going to be busy, though.

At the Phi Beta Lambda meeting, Anna greets them all and asks how they felt about the trip. 

Carter comes in late, but he sits by Eddie and unslings his messenger bag from over his shoulder to tuck it under his chair. 

They cover fundraisers, club events, guest speakers and local business people to interview for the campus newspaper. It’s something of a game plan for the rest of the year, and Eddie’s not on PBL board, so all he has to do is nod and vote on some things. But the meeting drags on for about two hours, and afterwards Carter wants him to come to the campus pub and meet up with a few other guys. He buys Eddie’s drink for him, a nice gesture since Eddie doesn’t turn 21 for another ten months and he isn’t willing to shell out for a fake. 

John tells stupid jokes all night and Eddie has to force out a fake laugh or two to avoid being labeled a complete humorless dick. Carter’s really laughing, though, throws an arm around Eddie and pounding the table. Jesus Christ. 

By the time he peels off from the group, it’s after 10.

“God damn it,” he says, flinging his bag onto the floor. 

\---

The next day, Eddie cancels all plans after his last class. 

He does homework, glancing at the clock every ten minutes, until it’s 8 and the park’s been closed for two hours. That allows for any time spent closing up and a generous amount of time for a commute home. Richie should be at home. 

With a shaking hand, he dials in the numbers slowly. It rings. And rings, and rings some more. 

“Tozier residence,” comes a cheerful, familiar voice. “What can I do for you?” There’s a beat, and Eddie starts to say, “Hi,” when the voice continues, “HA! Yeah, I can’t get to the phone right now. So if you have something to say to me, Richie, just spill it here on the machine. Thanks!” 

“Hey, uh, it’s Eddie. We met at Castle Park, you’re the train driver. You said to call, so I’m doing that now. Maybe I’ll try again later. Bye.” 

Eddie hangs up, feeling incredibly stupid. Is he supposed to call again, call back? It took enough emotional distress to call the first time. Shit.

He’s staring at the wall, chin in hand, deciding on a game plan, when the phone rings again.

“Oh, thank fuck for star sixty-nine,” comes an uneven, out of breath voice. 

“Edward Kaspbrak speaking,” Eddie says automatically.

“Eddie, right? Yeah, this is Richie. Calling you back.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. Gotta say, I wasn’t sure you’d call. But I’m glad you did!” 

“Me too. I wanted to make sure you’d be home,” Eddie said, cursing himself for sounding so boring.

“That’s sweed, Eds,” Richie says.

“Not my name.”

“Hey, so, what are you doing this Saturday?” Richie wants to know.

“Oh, god. Let’s see. Uh, I think I’m free in the evening.”

“Yeah? You free? Do you like dive bars? There’s one not too far from the university that has the best people watching. I mean it, the place is full of freaks. And you won’t have to drive much.” 

“Jesus, is that what you spend your time doing?”

“When I’m not doing your mom, yeah,” Richie says, so smoothly and guilelessly Eddie almost forgets to be offended by it.

“You’re disgusting. Anyway, you should know, I’m not 21.”

“Yeah, me neither. I use the same ID I’ve had since I was 17. But this place never cards. Don’t worry about it. If they do, I’ll buy you your drinks.”

“That’s a deal,” Eddie says. “Give me the address. When do you want to meet?”

“It’s called The Jury, and it’s on 435 Cherry St. Right across from a bowling alley and a hardware store. Let’s see... How about eight?”

“Eight, this Saturday, then?” 

“Yeah. See you there, Eddie Spaghetti.”

The phone’s slick with sweat, and he realizes he’s been clutching it for dear life, so he drops it and flops back onto his bed.

“Holy god in heaven,” Eddie murmurs. This thing with Richie, it feels like it’s very probably a date. He hasn’t been on many of those since his first year, when everybody else was hooking up furiously and he felt like he had to make some kind of move on the girls he spent all his time with. This is giving him the same fucking nervous feeling. Should he get a haircut? Is he supposed to kiss Richie when they get there? What the fuck is normal?

\---

The library has two shelves of books in the gay and lesbian section. It’s not a lot, but it’s more than Eddie expected. There’s no one else in this corner of the building, with the books on feminism and disability rights and the books on race relations. He still feels exposed, looking over his shoulder before leaning down to get a better look at titles. 

There are lots of thick, heavy books with serious titles like  _ And the Band Played On  _ or  _ Private Acts, Social Consequences _ but there are also a few thin volumes with shiny laminated covers like  _ The Gay MANual  _ and  _ Joining the Tribe.  _ Eddie’s flushed but determined, and he picks up the MANual and another book with a subtitle that claims it covers “gay and lesbian social norms.” 

The books are full of puns and jokes about show tunes and gay men’s supposed superior taste. Eddie doesn’t know shit about theater or old movies. Fuck. He wears the same polo shirts he had in high school. He is neat, at least.

W _ hy do some boys grow up straight and others grow up with an innate ability to throw dinner parties? _ Eddie thinks back to the time he helped Anna organize a party for PBL, or when he hosted the end of season dinner for track. 

He flips to the first section, on why people become gay. 

** _Myth #1: The Domineering Mother_ **

Below it is a quote from some guy who claims he owes his mother everything, for him turning out the way he is, and he’s happy for it. Eddie shuts the book, though, and closes his eyes.

He goes to the table of contents, hoping to find something about dating. The chapter Someday My Prince Will Come is full of information about the pitfalls of dating, how some men just want sex, the difficulty of getting a commitment. There’s nothing about being on your first gay date, ever. He can’t believe there’s guys out there who get dates all the time. Where do they find each other?  _ How  _ do they find each other? The book answers his question immediately after, with a chapter on GayDar. Jesus Christ.

\---

By the time Friday comes around, Eddie’s read through all the silly, ridiculous books with gay dating sections he could get his hands on. On one hand, it helps to know that there are plenty of people who have done this. It’s normal, he tells himself. You can go on a date with a guy. 

Unless, of course, it isn’t a date.

And unless Richie’s some perv who just wants to fuck him in the bathroom or whatever. 

He has lunch with Anna and some of his old friends from track. He doesn’t mention the date to them. He can’t, because it would be a whole thing, a whole conversation. The idea of coming out in a somewhat professional club, one that’s supposed to give him business connections, freaks him out. So he tells them he has plans with a friend Saturday night and not to bother him.

\---

Eddie spends all of Saturday morning picking out an outfit. The polyester weave of his favorite shirts, in white and navy and light blue, are all really annoying his skin. And he doesn’t want to look like a loser at the bar.  _ Like always, _ he thinks.

At the back of his closet is a worn black t-shirt. He wore it on moving day, and when Carter asked him to help out with props for a theater production, and other events that are potentially messy and dirty. It’s from his high school AV club. He doesn’t remember the club too clearly, but the front design is a dumb little doodle and the back of the shirt has all the members’ names, all seven of them. He’d clearly been popular back then, he thinks, rolling his eyes. But the shirt falls so nicely over his body and it offsets the gleaming, pristine preppiness of his blue windbreaker and neat jeans. Eddie keeps it on.

\---

The bar is smoky but not crowded, and the parking lot was a rough gravel that made Eddie think seriously about the lifespan of his tires and when he should get them rotated next. He slinks into the bar, unnoticed by any bouncer or bartender, and scans the place for a booth where he can hide out until Richie gets there, because, as always, he’s early. 

The place is just slightly nicer than Eddie had thought it would be. Little stained glass lamps hang down over the booths, illuminating them enough so you can see the cleanness of your glass, probably. He sits and fidgets and hopes Richie sees him sitting here and doesn’t go wait for him at the bar. He eyes the other patrons, most of whom look older than him. The men are mostly dressed in plaid and jeans or else khakis. There are a few women wearing tight, short things, but most look tired in their work blouses and skirt sets. 

Eddie’s starting to wish he’d brought a book when the door swings open and he catches a flash of blue and black. Richie’s here, wearing a denim jacket and his hair’s all bouncy and jet black and he looks as buoyant as ever. 

Eddie waves weakly, stopping halfway in because he doesn’t want to look like a grade schooler snuck in. He’s nearly old enough to be in here. 

Richie’s face, previously settled in a relaxed half-smile, lights up the fucking room, totally incandescent. “Eds!” he yells. Because of the din in the bar, nobody looks up and glares. It’s normal, he’s normal. He flaps his arms, “Up, up, get up, c’mon, let’s get you a drink, hey, what do you want?”

“Uh, maybe rum and coke.” Eddie says.

“That’s some real college kid shit, Eds. Are you open to something new?”

Eddie rolls his eyes and doesn’t even bother correcting the name thing because he has bigger fish to fry right now. “What, with your extra six months of experience you have on me? Oh, worldly traveler, please share with me your exotic drinks.”

“I really am a worldly traveler, d’you know how far I had to-- Nevermind. Have you ever had a whiskey sour?”

“No,” Eddie admits. “Sure, let’s try that. Get my drink and I’ll hold the table.”

Richie nods, hurries over to the bar and proudly flashes his ID. He comes back with two amber-colored drinks topped with cherries stabbed through by swords.

“I’m excited for you to try it,” he says, chin resting on one hand, smooshing the side of his face. 

Eddie takes a sip immediately, and he screws up his face, trying to decide if the tangy then burning sensation is for him. “Yeah, okay,” he says. “At least it’s not just sweet, then booze, then syrupy sweet again. That’s the extent of my palette.”

Richie pumps a fist in the air. He slurps down some of his own drink. 

“So I’m kind of shocked you called at all,” he says bluntly. “Kind of imagined you’d throw the paper away as soon as I gave it to you. Even though I’m an optimist.”

“Well, I wasn’t gonna waste perfectly good tickets.”

Richie talks some more about the amusement park, how it’s so understaffed every employee has to juggle a bunch of different jobs.

He tells Eddie about the house he inherited from his grandmother, small and strange and still filled with her tchotchkes. After they’d given him all the paperwork, the keys and all, he’d had to spend a month dusting and vacuuming. 

“And like,” Richie says. “I’m no neat freak, I was a-- a nineteen year old boy. The place was covered in dust she was too old to see, too old to clean.” His expression had been getting away from him, but here he seems to snap back into himself and sit up straighter. He grins. 

_ But what about your parents, _ Eddie doesn’t ask. He hates being asked, himself.

“It’s like, way out in the middle of nowhere, y’know, but living rent-free is pretty sweet,” he tells Eddie. “I always wanted to move out to Los Angeles, though. What about you?”

“Los Angeles? I don’t really like big cities, man.”

“I mean, what do you wanna do when you get out of here?”

“Out of college?”

“Out of  _ Maine _ . This place is a shithole and, y’know, it’s been a red state for a solid few decades. It doesn’t even have domestic partnerships, you know? They hate us. ”

“What the fuck is a domestic partnership,” Eddie asks.

Richie rolls his eyes. “I’ll tell you later. But what are your plans, Mr. Business Hotshot?”

“I think maybe I could go into supply chain management. I like overseeing things, I like following up with people. Making calls is weirdly soothing?”

Richie laughs. “Oh, my god, you’re like, the weirdest guy I’ve ever met. It’s super charming. Can I sit with you?”

“Uh, yeah. You already are,” Eddie says, but halfway through Richie’s switching sides to crowd Eddie in against the booth’s wall. His skinny leg is pressed up against Eddie’s. Eddie takes a long sip of his drink.

Richie’s eyes look absolutely huge under his glasses, and when he’s turned away, the angle makes them look like cartoon eyes. His hair is a glossy black, long enough that the ringlets touch the collar of his pink Hawaiian shirt. From far away, he looks clean-shaven, but up close you can see the shadow of his beard, and it makes him look very slightly seedy. Eddie catches a flash of the man he’ll be in ten, or fifteen years. A little more tired, maybe. He looks like the type to stay up all night for no reason other than to catch Evil Dead on TV at midnight, or because he’s reading through some weird magazine. All those sleepless nights will catch up to him eventually. 

“We’re very far from Hawaii,” Eddie says aloud, out of the blue. 

“Yeah, man, no shit. I fuckin’ wish we could go there. Could you imagine, though? If we were both millionaires and we could just fly out to a tropical paradise for a first date? I’d wear a leather jacket instead of this old piece of shit, and you could wear like, a big expensive business suit and Gucci shoes and stuff.” 

Richie’s spinning this fantasy all while facing Eddie, close enough to touch. His eyebrows move a lot when he’s animated, and Eddie can feel his breath against his face, just slightly. It’s boozy and warm and Eddie’s leaning in because there’s something about it he doesn’t want to miss. 

_ Date.  _ Richie called this a date, so Eddie can finally stop fucking freaking out about whether or not he misunderstood him. It’s hard to misread a guy repeatedly calling you cute, but straight men have done worse to him. 

“We could have our drinks on the beach,” Eddie finds himself saying, “fruity, girly ones filled with sugar. I’d get sand in my shoes and fuck up the leather.”

Richie beams. 

When Richie goes up to get their third round, he gets a different bartender this time. It’s a middle-aged man with a crew cut, probably old enough to be his dad. The man’s not smiling at all, but Richie keeps on, valiantly. Eddie watches him take Richie in, his oversized shirt and faded jacket. The man’s face turns to stone, and he watches as he turns to meet Eddie’s gaze. He’s shaking his head. Richie’s smile disappears. He glances back at Eddie, eyes wide, grimaces. Richie shakes his head too. He backs away, toward their booth. The man doesn’t let up. Still staring. 

_ “Hey!” _

Richie flaps his hands, the universal signal for  _ Get the fuck outta there _ and Eddie obliges. He grabs the dregs of their drinks, downs his own and hands the other over to Richie, who cackles and does the same. His free hand flies to Eddie’s wrist, tugging him toward the front door. 

“Don’t fuckin’ come back here!” the guy shouts, but the door bangs shut behind them and they’re running, still, down the street and then back behind the hardware store. Richie leads the way, still holding onto Eddie, splashing through puddles. He only stops when he gets to the rusted back door, leans against the huge slab of corrugated metal. Eddie halts, too.

They’re both laughing, red-cheeked and hair askew. Eddie pats self-consciously at his head but knows it’s probably hopeless. 

“That guy,” Richie pants, “never said anything to me before tonight.”

“Maybe I was talking too loudly about my fruity Hawaiian dream,” Eddie says sourly. 

Richie smiles, but it’s softer than before. None of that manic energy. They’re only inches apart. Eddie’s heartbeat thunders.

Richie puts a hand out to Eddie’s cheek, and his touch is so soft he almost wants to pull away. He thinks he knows where this is going. He turns his head away because he’s afraid, suddenly.

“Can I kiss you, Eds?” There it is.

“Sure, okay,” Eddie says, a stupidly noncommittal answer. He doesn’t correct the nickname, but maybe he should have, because when you have a dog, you’re not supposed to reward bad behavior.

Then Richie’s mouth is on his, gentle and thorough, and he forgets all about dog training. 

His lips feel so soft, and the thing is, kissing doesn’t make any sense, it sounds really boring when you think about it. Dryly pressing a part of your face against someone else’s sounds like it has novelty value, at best. That’s just when you’re thinking about it, though.

Richie’s mouth is absolutely destroying his capacity for critical thought, it’s writing over the two kisses he’s had before this and replacing them with something so simple, so dangerous. 

Then Richie licks at him, and he pulls back. 

“That okay?” Richie asks, breathless. 

Eddie’s silent for a moment or two. He’s also breathless, and trying to hide it. 

“Yes,” Eddie says, and tilts his head up. It’s just kissing again, but this time he does it himself. He darts his tongue out, pokes it against Richie’s mouth and he  _ really _ likes that, judging by the sound and how he clutches at Eddie’s stupid fucking windbreaker. Eddie takes a step forward, and Richie steps back, pinning himself against the metal with a dull thudding noise. His mouth opens and then Eddie’s tasting whiskey and mint and something more indistinct, very human and base and oddly fucking sexy. 

His hands are on Richie’s narrow hips, creeping slightly under the shirt, when Richie pulls back and hits his head against the door. 

“Fuck, that’s cold,” he gripes. 

“Yeah?” Eddie says immediately. He acts fast, pressing his hand flat against Richie’s belly. 

“No!” Richie shrieks. He shoves Eddie away, but he’s laughing. “God. You fucking sadist. I should have known. Everything small has an evil streak.” 

“I’m really not that small,” Eddie says, meaning it.

“I’m only gonna say this once,” Richie says.

“What?”

“ _ I know.  _ I see guys smaller than you every day. But it’s way funnier to pretend that you’re short.” His smile is absolutely unhinged. It’s gonna fuck Eddie up, he thinks suddenly. He feels such a strong pull to this man, and it makes no sense, and it’s probably going to derail his entire life. He’s thinking all this with an uncharacteristic sense of calm.

Eddie glares. “I fucking knew it!”

\---

Richie’s van is painted a bright orange, with tiny rust rivulets running down along the back bumper. He has a bunch of bumper stickers. Bart Simpson’s there, along with an extremely old-looking  _ IMPEACHMENT: Now more than ever _ sticker.

“Who is that even about?” Eddie asks, pointing at it.

Richie frowns. “I think it was Nixon. Hey, do you mind if I smoke?”

“Very much so. I’m not kissing you if you smoke.”

“Who said I wanted to kiss you again?” Richie says, but he makes no move to pull out his pack. “Do you wanna go inside? It’s warmer in there.”

“My mother told me never to follow a stranger into his car,” Eddie says.

“Oooh, a momma’s boy. Don’t worry, baby, your mom and I are very intimately acquainted.”

Eddie gags.

“Aren’t you  _ gay _ , anyway?” It’s out of his mouth before he can stop himself.

“Yeah?”

“You can’t make jokes like that.”

“Who said it was a joke?”

“You’re so fuckin’ annoying.”

“It’s better you find out now than later,” Richie says solemnly. 

The van is warm and a little smoky. Not enough that it bothers Eddie, but enough that the seats smell a little like tobacco. 

“I’m just gonna. Sit here til I sober up enough to drive home,” Richie says from the backseat, his heavy black shoes leaving marks on the headrest of the driver’s seat. “You can sit here with me,” he says in a voice that’s almost gentle, and ruins the effect by patting his lap. “I wouldn’t mind.”

“I guess I don’t have anywhere else to be.” Eddie considers it for a second, and decides to make Richie’s day and climb onto his lap. 

It’s kind of a bony seat, but he’s determined to make it work. Richie’s eyes widen even further, and he rests his hands unnaturally against the seat upholstery.

Eddie laughs. “Richie,” he says, and grabs his hands to put them on his hips. “It’s okay.” 

“What?”

Eddie kisses him. They kiss for a long time. After a while, he can kind of feel Richie’s hard dick trapped under him, and he doesn’t know what to do about it so he decides to ignore it. 

He gets his hands under Richie’s shirt again, though, and this time he doesn’t complain. Then Richie starts pulling at his own shirt, and they break apart so he can tug it off. Eddie’s quick to explore this new terrain, hands immediately at the sparse chest hair and nipples hardened by the cold. Richie makes a noise when he touches one, so he doubles down and flicks them both at the same time.

“Fuck, Eddie,” Richie says. “Like, don’t do that again unless you want me to ruin my pants, and yours by extension.” Eddie kind of wants to run his tongue over them but he does as he’s told. Eventually they end up more horizontal than sitting, and Eddie slides off him so they’re side-by-side instead. He feels sun-baked, a consequence of spending too much time with something marvelous. His chin is stubble-scraped and he can’t stop thinking about Richie’s cock under his jeans. He can sort of see the outline, cast into relief by the harsh parking lot lighting like everything around them. The thought of touching it is obsessing him and also repellant. 

Eddie has kissed guys before, of course, but never anything like this. Sex never felt like a likely outcome before, but now all he has to do is follow his desires and move his hand like one foot and he could probably get fucked like, tonight, if he really wanted to. But he doesn’t know how clean this guy is, who he is, whether he would be gentle or if he might hurt Eddie. He keeps forgetting that they just met. 

Eddie doesn’t bridge the gap, doesn’t run his fingers along strained denim. He moves his gaze up to meet Richie’s eyes, though, and kisses him some more. The alcohol is leaving his system and it’s still all he wants to do.

\---

The world is a searing red, and then Eddie’s awake, lying on something dusty and old and being roasted by the sun. He groans. The night before resurfaces in his mind. He has to piss. He tries the door, but it’s locked. The lump next to him moves a bit.

“Richie, you gotta unlock the door,” Eddie says. “I have to piss.”

Richie pokes a head out from under the plaid car blanket. He slept in his glasses and they’re hilariously askew. “Mmmkay.”

“Now, please,” Eddie demands. 

“Jesus Christ, it’s the crack of dawn! I am barely conscious!” But Richie unlocks the door and Eddie finds an abandoned corner of the lot to piss in. 

When he gets back, Richie looks a little more awake. He’s staring out into space with the blanket hiked up to his chin, but he’s upright.

“Aren’t you hot?”

“For you, babe? Always.” Then he sits up straighter, looks at Eddie and asks, “Hey, do you want to come to my house?”

On the way to Richie’s house, he frets the whole way over. Is this the part where they fuck? He’s not sure if he’s ready for that. He doesn’t even really know how. 

Halfway through the drive, Richie takes his hand and says, “We can just. You know. Sleep. Or watch movies, or play fucking Monopoly. It’ll be fun.”

When they get there, Eddie’s overwhelmed by the sheer old-lady 60s look of the place. There are pastel florals everywhere and tiny little figurines and the kitchen is mint green. 

“This is kind of incredible,” he tells Richie. 

Richie looks pleased. “That’s what people tend to say. Not that I bring many people back to my grandmother’s house. You’re special.”

As dumb as it is, Eddie glows with pride. It’s the obvious thing everyone wants to hear, but that doesn’t mean he’s immune to it, even when it might be a joke.

“When did you move here?”

“Almost a year ago,” he says. “That’s when I got the job at Castle Park. 

“Wow. What did you do before?”

“This and that, basically. Odd jobs. I worked in a hardware store.”

“Not interested in school?”

Richie snorts. “Fuck no. I wanna be in showbusiness, baby.” It’s not clear whether or not he’s joking, so Eddie doesn’t push it, for once in his life. Things between them feel fragile. 

They spend the afternoon watching movies from Richie’s box of stolen tapes from the store in his hometown. 

“I mean, what are they gonna do, drive all the way from Derry to arrest me? Make me pay late fines? Like I would give them my address. No one in Derry has the resources for that. So before I left I rented as many of my favorite movies as possible.”

Eddie turns away from the TV to look at Richie. 

“Derry?”

“Yeah. My hometown. Do you know it?”

“That’s  _ my _ hometown.” 

“Well, that’s impossible, Edward. We know only one person at a time can claim a place as a hometown, and right now, it’s my turn.”

“That’s fucking crazy, though. Where did you go to school?”

Richie laughs. “Uh, was there more than one school? I went to the one where they made us wear red and white in gym class. I can’t even remember the mascot, honestly.”

“Do you have any yearbooks? C’mon, I’ll show you my picture.” Really he just wants to see Richie’s picture.

“No, I definitely don’t have any high school yearbooks with me. My mom has dominion over those.” 

“Wait, what year did you graduate?”

Richie says, “How do you know I graduated?”

“God, stop being difficult. I’m trying to bond with you.”

“I don’t want to waste our time talking about high school.” 

“Okay, good. Let’s get back to business,” Richie says seriously. He leans in, but Eddie doesn’t go for it. 

“Fuck off. Hey, what time is it?” 

“If I tell you, will you kiss me again?”

“Maybe.”

“It’s four.”

“Shit, I really have to get back to campus soon.”

“On a Sunday? For fucking what?”

“So I can get ready for tomorrow. It’s going to be a shitshow if I don’t look over my notes tonight, fuck.”

Richie does him back eventually, with minimal bitching. He promises to get “future goddamn MacArthur genius” back to campus before dark. Days are shorter now, so Eddie waits impatiently by the door for a while to hurry him up.

When Richie drops him off at his car, still parked by the bar, he kisses him, gentle and sweet. Eddie stares at him for a moment before nodding and leaving the warm world of Richie’s van, back into the chilly Maine air for the two steps he has to walk to his own car. 

\---

Monday morning, Eddie runs into Carter at the godforsaken bagel place. Carter knows nothing about him, what he’s done with his body and where he’s been. It makes him grin, and unfortunately, Carter grins back. 

“Someone’s chipper today! Get a lot of studying done last night?”

“Hah, no, I totally broke my stride actually. Just had a fun hangout, that’s all.”

“Without me? Damn, Kaspbrak, I’m hurt.”

“Not really your crowd,” Eddie says without thinking. Stupid. Now all of PBL’s gonna hear he had some wild night.

“Hey, fuck you. I can be a surprise,” Carter says. 

“It was just a very normal hangout, relax. Some dive bar. They caught on that I was underage, so I don’t think I’ll be back.”

“Going to bars without me? Little Eddie Kaspbrak is growing up.”

Eddie fucking  _ hates _ when people talk about him like that, so he ignores Carter. That’s the worst treatment for someone like him. No matter how much he makes fun of Eddie, the guy’s way needier than he’ll ever be. 

\---

In the middle of business systems, Eddie realizes he and Richie never talked about a second date or anything. He has Eddie’s number now, at least. 

Richie calls him that night.

“Hey, so like, what’s your schedule?”

Richie asks Eddie if he wants to visit the park again, as a date. Since northern Maine is not exactly brimming with things to do, and he’d rather not go clamming or something else horrible 

and outdoorsy and  _ fucking Maine,  _ Eddie agrees. 

**Author's Note:**

> hope this was enjoyable..! i have more in the works. have had this sitting in my drafts for a long time and wanted to put this first chapter out there. i have another chapter planned.
> 
> this has nothing to do with the fic but check out this excerpt from classic anti-drug book, Go Ask Alice  
"I had condemned Richie for being a frigging homo, but maybe I should have given even that mother a break. With the shit he was on every day, it’s no wonder he was out of control.”


End file.
